The Museum
by Rogue11
Summary: 'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe. During a museum's visit with Alexander the gang stumbles over another ghost and yet another mystery to solve
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

**Happy Halloween!**

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 1

In the passenger seat beside him, Milliardo was finishing up his phone call just as Treize Khushrenada passed the Browers Museum.

"So, where is everyone?"

"Little coffee shop just around the corner," his lover explained as he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Turn right at the light."

The 'gang' had agreed to meet near the museum for a drink or a bite to eat, before heading to the opening celebration of the new Egyptian exhibition.

At the moment, though, it remained to be seen if there even was going to be a celebration or an exhibition for that matter. Milliardo first had learned about the break-in at the museum from his sister, but by the time he had called Treize the professor had already heard about it through Wufei who had been watching the morning news.

After a short conference call it had been decided to stick with their original plan and see what would happen. If nothing else they could always go catch a movie at the new theater down the block.

"I believe, this is your stop," the professor announced pulling up in front of the coffee shop. "I will see you guys in a bit."

Milliardo nodded as he pushed open the car door. He reached over his seat into the back for his backpack which held his camera, a bottle of water and most importantly Octavian's diary.

"See you." He told his lover and then as he slipped out of the passenger seat: "Let's go, Alexander."

Once ghost and man had exited the car, Treize backed up and pulled back into the traffic lane. There was a large monitored paid-parking lot in the back of the museum. One of the perks of becoming a patron of the arts at the Browers, was a lifetime parking pass. So why not take advantage of it, the professor figured.

The parking area was pretty empty at this time of the day; aside from about half a dozen law enforcement vehicles. As he locked his BMW, Treize noticed Sheriff Bonaparte crossing the lot, probably on his way to his own car.

"Good day, Sheriff!" He called out to the man.

Bonaparte held his step and turned. "Oh, Professor Khushrenada. A good day to you, too. What brings you here?"

##

"Where is Treize?" Trowa wanted to know when Milliardo approached the table he and his friends were sitting at.

"Parking the car," the other man explained. "He should be here soon."

As he settled down next to Quatre, Milliardo waved for the waitress.

"So, what did they say?" he asked directed at Wufei, who had volunteered to call the museum and get the latest news.

"There will be no grand opening, at least not today."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, but at least the museum will be open this afternoon, excluding the wing where the break-in occurred. That one, of course is still closed off by the police."

When the waitress came over to their table Milliardo ordered iced mocha for Treize and a latte for himself along with one of the cafe's famous cheese and ham croissants.

"Could I have another espresso, too?" Quatre asked with a polite smile.

"Right away," the young woman nodded. "Anything else?"

"I guess I will have a refill on my iced tea." Wufei requested.

Once they were alone again Milliardo picked up their conversation from earlier. "I'm surprised they are opening at all today. One would think they don't want people running around until the police investigation is completed."

"I was wondering about that too. But the guy I talked to explained that they were expecting a great number of people for the grand opening ceremony, not only locals," Wufei explained. "They were afraid that many of them might not have heard the news or show up anyway. Rather than disappointing the crowd by turning them away they decided to open the museum at least partially.

"Makes sense." the blonde nodded. "By the way, did they tell you what exactly happened?"

"No, I'm afraid they were pretty tight lipped about that."

"I think I should be able to shed some light on that," Treize, who had walked up as though on cue, announced. "It's more than just a simple robbery, but quite possibly attempted murder from what I have been told."

"Murder?" Quatre echoed.

"How do you know?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"Got it straight from the horse's mouth, or more precisely Sheriff Bonaparte's mouth," the professor replied as he took the chair next to his lover. "I ran into him in the parking lot."

"Well then, what are you waiting for," Milliardo urged. "Tell us what happened."_

Just then the waitress returned with their orders and Treize decided to wait until she had left. He took a big sip from his iced drink and nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect," he announced.

"Come on!" His lover prodded him with his elbow. "You are not going to make us beg, are you?"

"Now there is a thought." Treize smirked. As he looked around everyone's eyes were fixed on him in silent curiosity. Even Alexander had moved closer. He could feel the ghost's present over his left shoulder.

"Apparently," he began. "Early this morning the museum's alarm was triggered, and a call-back from the security company monitoring the place didn't get any response. The police were called and two of their units dispatched. When they arrived they were unable to raise the night security guard on duty, and when they checked the premises from the outside, they found a broken window leading to one of the back offices. The director, who had been called in, arrived at the same time with the access code for the front entrance. Once the doors were open a trail of blood led the police from the west wing where the museum's research facilities are located to the security room, where they found the night guard bleeding and seriously injured. He had been bludgeoned with something. It seems the poor man, alerted by the sound of the window breaking, went to investigate and was surprised by the intruder. Somehow he managed to make it back to the security room to trigger the alarm before he collapsed."

"Sounds about right," Quatre remarked and Milliardo nodded in agreement.

Only Trowa didn't seem to feel the same. "Sounds more like someone who is very new to the security business or rather poorly trained."

"What do you mean?" Quatre inquired.

"Well, think about it. There is only a single guard on duty. For him to leave his post to investigate without sounding an alarm or informing the police... In the company I work for one would get fired for doing something that foolish."

"Well, most security companies are not like the one you work for." Wufei pointed out. "More often than not they ARE poorly trained rent-a-cops trying to make a few extra bucks moonlighting as night watchmen."

"Still," Trowa insisted. "He should have known better."

"Funny thing you would say that," Treize remarked. "Those were Sheriff Bonaparte's words exactly. You see, the guard was a retired police officer, apparently someone Bonaparte knew well and had worked with in the past. Not someone one would expect to make such a rookie mistake."

"What was stolen, by the way?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"Strangely enough the only item that seems to be missing is a Canopic jar. Not even a very valuable one from what I understand," the professor told him. " Why the thief, if he found the time to steal something, didn't go for any of the more valuable items in the room seems to baffle the police."

"Yes indeed, that could be a very good reason." Quatre nodded in the direction of their ghostly companion. And then directed at the rest of the group he explained. "Alexander assumes the crook might have thought the jar would be easier to sell than other, well known artifacts."

"Art thieves rarely plan on selling their items at the next pawnshop," Wufei once again pointed out the obvious. "Most of them are hired by a shady collector or crooked dealer to steal a certain item."

"Hmm..." Quatre gave a pensive sound. "Then you assume the thief was after that specific jar and it is worth killing for?"

"Actually, from what I understand the canopic jar was one of the pieces in the Egyptian exhibit and had only been unpacked the day before," Treize told his friends.

"Now, that would raise the question who could have known exactly what items would be send over from the Cairo museum," Milliardo mused. "Do you know if they mentioned any details in the paper, Wufei?"

"Not as far as I know," the young Chinese man replied. "It just spoke of a collection of artifacts from the 13th dynasty. And I don't remember reading anything more specific on the museum's website either. "

"Me neither," Quatre added. "I had actually checked to see if they had any artifacts from that new tomb they had been working on for the past few years. - May I have the sugar, please?"

The words had barely left the young man's lips when the little bowl, holding various packs of sugar and sugar substitutes, rose from the table and drifted toward him in mid-air.

Quickly Treize reached out to grab the bowl, passing it on to Quatre.

"Not in public, Alexander," he whispered as he looked around, making sure nobody in the cafe had noticed the incident.

"Anyway, what time is the museum opening?" Milliardo wanted to know.

The professor checked his watch. "Twelve minutes ago. Shall we finish up here and head over?" he suggested.

##

The lobby of the Brower's was crowded when the small group arrived. Apparently news about the break-in and postponement of the opening ceremony had not spread quickly enough.

Dr. Snyder the longstanding director of the museum was giving a short speech, explaining the situation and apologizing for the inconvenience. Most of the visitors were rather understanding, and although everyone seemed disappointed only a handful left angrily, while the others took advantage of the complementary tours of the native American and local history exhibits, offered by the director.

"So," Trowa asked after everyone was starting to file into the exhibition rooms. "Should we join one of the tours or go and explore on our own?"

"I'm not sure about you guys," Treize replied. "But I prefer to enjoy art without having someone breathing over my shoulder while someone else is standing on my toes. So I think I will pass on the tours."

"I couldn't agree more," Quatre nodded. "Emotions seem to be running a bit higher than usual at this place and with a crowd like this..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. His friends knew what he meant. Milliardo gave the younger man a sympathetic look.

"You sure you are alright?"

"I'm fine, as long as I don't have to share the same small space with a hundred people. Besides I wouldn't mind checking out the "Treasures of the Silk Road" exhibit. I missed that one when I was in New York."

"Well then, how about splitting up and meeting here again in let's say..." Treize looked at his watch."...an hour and a half?"

Everyone agreed on that and the little group slowly dispersed.

At any given time the Browers hosted four permanent and - depending on the size- between 3 and 5 traveling exhibits. So there was surely something for everyone to enjoy.

"Where should we go first, Dear?" Treize looked questioningly at his lover.

"I believe that decision has already been made." Milliardo gave a little smirk, and the other man sighed when he too felt Alexander's aura moving toward the area of the museum housing a collection of Native American pottery and artifacts.

"Of course it has." Treize replied tongue in cheek. "What was I thinking?"

The two men followed their ghostly ancestor slowly.

"I wonder how much museums have changed since the last time he visited one?" The blonde mused and then with a quick look at Treize he added. "They **did **have museums when he was alive, didn't they?"

"Yes, of course they had. It's one of the curious aspects of mankind. We have always been very eager to learn **about **our past, without actually learning very much **from **it," the professor replied philosophically.

###

There was no police tape, just a few plain clothed officers keeping overly curious visitors away from areas in which the police was still working.

Having returned to the lobby early and ahead of everyone else, Treize and Milliardo settled down at the large fountain near the entrance to wait for the others.

A few moments later the blonde rose to his feet.

"Keep an eye on my backpack, will you?" He asked his lover. "I'll be right back."

As the young man headed toward the restrooms, Treize pulled out one of the brochures he had picked up at the entrance and started to read the article about the Egypt exhibit. Or at least that's what he was planning on doing, but before he even finished the first paragraph something cold and wet splashed against the back of his neck.

The professor's head snapped around, assuming that one of his companions had sneaked up from behind. But there was nobody in sight, and yet he was splashed for a second time with a few drops of water from the fountain.

Shaking his head like a dog ,Treize's eyes narrowed slightly. "Keep it up, Alexander and I will lock you and that diary of yours in the trunk of my car, " he warned.

"Talking to oneself is never considered a good thing, or so I've been told?" Sheriff Bonaparte's voice was laced with amusement.

The tawny-haired man turned his head. "Ah, Sheriff. Still here I see."

"Yes, it's going to be a long day, I assume."

"I can imagine." Treize nodded thoughtfully. "Any new developments?"

"Not so far." The older man turned sober. "But then, criminals rarely leave their calling card. We will have to see what the boys in the lab can do with the evidence they collected. "

"What about the guard, did they update you on his condition?"

"Last I heard was that he came out of surgery alive. But it is touch and go. Difficult to say if and when he will wake up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah well..." There was a moment of silence before Bonaparte changed the subject. "So, professor, are you enjoying the exhibition?"

"Very much so," Treize confirmed. "Although I'm sure it would have been even better if the Egyptian Hall would have been open. I had really been looking forward to that exhibit."

"I'm sure lots of people did," the sheriff agreed. "I have to admit I am not much of a history buff myself. But from what I understand the item that was stolen was some kind of jar used to hold organs or parts of a deceased. Why would anyone want to steal organs that old? They have to be nothing but dust by now, wouldn't you say, Professor?"

The other man shrugged. "I don't think it was the content of the jar the thief was after. The vessel itself however could be quite valuable depending on who it belonged to."

"I suppose," the sheriff mused. Just then Dr. Snyder, a lanky man with the complexion of someone who spent most of his days inside and dark hair that made him look even paler, hurried toward them.

"Sheriff Bonaparte," he addressed the older man, with an apologetic tone in his voice. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is a phone call for you in my office "

"A phone call?!" the sheriff replied in his usual calm manner. "Oh by the way, Professor, this is Doctor Snyder, director of this museum. Doctor Snyder, meet Professor Khushrenada, a good friend of mine. He teaches history at St Marymount."

The two men exchanged polite nods and 'how-do-you-dos' before Snyder turned his attention back to the sheriff .

"Its the mayor. He said it was important. He tried to call you on your cell."

"I'm not sure what's wrong with my phone. Its been acting up all day. And I only bought this one a few weeks ago ."

"Its not your phone," Snyder assured him. "This building is a total dead zone. Even wireless comes and goes. Let me show you the way to my office ."

"Uh, yes of course. Please, excuse us." The sheriff nodded briefly at Treize before following the museum's director, just as Milliardo returned from the restroom.

"Was that the sheriff just now?"the young man wanted to know."

"Indeed."

"Anything new?" Milliardo wanted to know.

His lover shrugged. "Not much, aside from the fact that he just received a call from the mayor, and that whoever designed this building must have carried a deep grudge against modern telecommunication "

The younger man gave an amused chuckle. "I was referring to news about the break-in, but your knowledge of the most random and yet interesting facts always amazes me. "

"Well thank you, Dear. I shall consider that a compliment."

"It was meant as such. " Milliardo assured him "By the way, any sign of the others yet?"

"There they come now." Treize gestured toward their friends coming down from the gallery.

"Are we late?" Quatre greeted them as the trio approached. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not really. So, did you guys see what you wanted?"

"I suppose," Trowa replied. "It doesn't look like they will be opening the west wing any time soon there are still a lot of cops around."

"Well, I guess we will just have to come back some other day then." The professor shrugged. "Maybe by then Duo and Heero will be able to come along as well."

"Is anybody in a hurry to leave?" Wufei wanted to know . "Or do we still have time to check out the gift shop? They might have some books I am interested in."

Treize shook his head. "We don't have anywhere to be, do we Dear?"

"Not as far as I know," Milliardo replied. "But say, does anyone know where Alexander is?"

* * *

TBC

Author's Note: I can't believe it has been a year since I started working on Piano. I really haven't been doing much writing lately, have I? Hopefully this will change in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 2

"Alexander?!" Trowa asked. "I thought he was with you guys?"

Quatre looked around then shook his head. "He is not here. Should we go look for him?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Treize told him. "He was here only a moment ago; probably just wandered off. He did that a few times earlier, too. Never stayed away too long. So, I don't think we should worry.""

"Well," the young man shrugged. "If you say so."

"Besides, you do have the diary, don't you?" Wufei asked. "Then he can't be far, anyway."

"True," the Professor confirmed while Milliardo checked his backpack just to be sure. "The diary **is** a bit like a dog leash, you could say. Although, we are not completely sure how far his boundaries reach. At home he will walk Cabal to the corner of our block and back on occasion. That's at least 200 yards, wouldn't you say, dear?"

"Give or take a few," the blonde agreed. "But like you say, I don't think we need to panic. He will probably be back soon. Why don't you go to the gift shop while we are waiting for him, Wufei?"

The young Chinese man nodded, and Treize asked.

"Mind if I come along?"

"I'll come too," Trowa added, throwing a questioning look at his friend and housemate. "Quatre?"

"No, I think I will stay here with Milliardo."

"Okay then," The professor nodded. "When Alexander comes back before us tell him not to run off again. We will be leaving soon."

"Got it," his lover assured him as he and Quatre settled down on one of the benches by the fountain.

"So, from what I heard your sister recently discovered her love for the piano?"

"Yeah," Milliardo huffed, in a mixture of humor and sarcasm. "That's Relena for you; always thinking couldn't have discovered her love for the recorder or violin, could she?"

His friend laughed. "And yet you went with her to buy a piano today."

"We only went to look at one," Milliardo pointed out. It wasn't like he had actually **planned **on buying it, was it? "What was I supposed to do? My father suggested she should use the piano that's in our attic; the one Alexander has been playing."

"I see. So you were doing it to keep Alexander happy, not her." Quatre grinned.

"Absolutely!" Milliardo replied with as much conviction in his voice as he could muster. "Would you like to live under the same roof with an unhappy ghost?"

"I guess not," Quatre admitted as he looked around the museum's lobby. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where the restrooms are, would you?"

"Head toward the East Wing but take a sharp right just before you reach the stairs. The doors are hidden in a little alcove," his friend told him.

Quatre nodded as he rose to his feet. "Thanks. I'll be right back."

###

As he put down the phone, Dr Nassar Hazzir checked his watch. He had just ended an hour long conference call with the minister of antiquity and the director of the Cairo Museum, informing them about the break in and discussing the possibility of cutting short the international exhibition tour. In the end though, it was agreed to not jump the gun and wait for the American police to do their job.

Dr Hazzir was, by all accounts a handsome man; tall, dark tanned with wavy black hair that was starting to show its first streaks of gray, and deep, intelligent eyes. But he didn't get where he was today on his good looks. Hazzir had spent most of his adult life in the deserts of Egypt, trying to find and preserve traces of his country's past. He was the kind of archaeologist people wrote books and made movies about. So, why a man like him had decided to accompany this rather insignificant traveling exhibition was a mystery to most.

The tall mall rose from behind the desk of his small temporary office and crossed the room in a few large strides. It was time to meet with the director and inform him of the decision made by his superiors in Cairo.

As he headed down the hall toward Dr. Snyder's office Hazzir suddenly stopped. For a moment there he could have sworn that he was not alone. There was nobody in sight, yet the feeling remained. It was the kind of sensation that set his teeth on edge and made the hair in the back of his neck rise. After a brief moment of hesitation the archaeologist turned on his heels and headed in the direction he had sensed the strange presence from.

###

Tossing the soiled paper towel into the wastebasket as he passed it, Quatre walked out of the men's restroom. But even before he had reached the lobby, the young man held his step. In the back of his mind he could sense a faint presence that didn't seem to belong amongst the visitors and employees at the museum. By now be was able to tell a ghostly spirit apart from those of the living quite well.

_Alexander?!_

Closing his eyes for a brief moment Quatre concentrated his senses, trying to locate direction from which the feeling came.

When he opened his eyes again he turned left, heading toward the South Wing where the museum's offices and research facilities were located. Moments later the young man found himself in front of a heavy mahagony door and a sign that read:

"Restricted area, Authorized Personnel only!"

After just one brief moment of hesitation, and a look around, Quatre slipped through the door and found himself in some sort of corridor. There were several doors to his left and a single one to his right. A large arrow painted on the wall pointed toward a staircase at the end of the hall.

"2nd Floor administrative offices" the young man read below the arrow.

Quatre honed his senses again, trying to lock on to Alexander's presence. He could feel something... still faint. It seemed to be coming from behind the door at his right.

After another quick glance around to make sure he was alone, the young man hurried toward the door in question. When he tried the handle he found, to his surprise, that it was not locked. Without a sound Quatre pushed the door open, just far enough to see what lay behind. There was a staircase, similar to the one at the other end of the corridor. Only this one was descending into darkness.

"Alex?!" He called out in a hushed voice. "Alexander?!"

There was no reaction from below, but he still could feel a presence.

Afraid to alert someone by turning on the light, the young man put one hand against the wall as he slowly climbed downstairs. But with every step his feeling of uneasiness grew.

"Alexander?" He called once again, louder this time. As he reached the end of the staircase Quatre stopped. His eyes were beginning to adjust and he was able to make out boxes and crates around him. He couldn't see far but he was unwilling to explore any further, because by now the young man was convinced that someone... something was down here in the darkness. And it certainly was not Alexander.

_Time to get out of here_. He thought as he hurried up the steps toward the corridor. _I don't think I am welcome._

###

The first thing Dr Hazzir noticed when he came down the stairs to the first floor, was the open door to one of the storage rooms in the basement. It was the very room where his artifact filled crates had been stored after they arrived from the airport. At first he didn't make too much of it, assuming either a museum's employee or someone from the police had opened it.

But then he frowned as he noticed a young man who somehow seemed out of place.

"Excuse me!" He called out. "May I help you? Visitors are not allowed back here."

Startled the 'trespasser' turned toward him. He looked even younger than Hazzir had thought and in some strange way vaguely familiar.

"I'm sorry." A somewhat sheepish smile crossed the young man's face. "I was looking for the restroom. I guess I took the wrong..." He trailed off and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Doctor Hazzir...Dr Nassar Hazzir?!"

"Yes?" His frown deepened.

"I guess you don't remember me. It's been almost ten years, after all."

Suddenly recognition hit, and the archaeologist smiled as well. "Young Mister Winner?! What a surprise. Look at you. You are..."

"A little taller than you remember me?" Quatre laughed.

"A lot taller I would say. But tell me, what are you doing here?"

"Here at the museum, or in town in general?"

"Both I guess."

"I'm going to school here; college," the young man explained. "Today is the last day of Harvest Break, and we decided to see the new exhibit, but unfortunately..." He trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

Hazzir turned serious. "Yes, it is such terrible thing. But you said 'we'. You are not alone?"

"No, I'm with a few friends. Dr. Hazzir would you happen to have a few minutes to spare? I would like to introduce you to them."

He checked his watch then gave a little shrug. "Yes, why not."

"Are you sure? I'm not keeping you from anything?"

"Only meeting with director of museum. Nothing that can not be umm... postponed for a few minutes. I would love to meet your friends."

"Thank you."

###

"Relax, Trowa." Wufei told his friend who was checking his watch for the third time. "He has barely been gone for fifteen minutes."

The other youth huffed. "You obviously have no idea how much trouble Quatre can get himself into in fifteen minutes. Maybe I should check on him."

"In the restroom?" Treize asked. "He would never let you live that one down."

"Good point. Maybe we could send Alexander?!" The young man looked around. He knew the ghost had returned shortly after they got back from the gift store.

"I don't think that will be necessary. There he is now." Milliardo thrust his chin forward, pointing across the lobby. "Not sure about him being in trouble, though. He isn't alone."

"Hm... You think that guy is a cop or security guard?" Wufei mused.

"No!" The professor shook his head firmly. "That's Nassar Hazzir; Dr. Nassar Hazzir. He is one of Egypt's most renown archaeologist and an expert on the 13th dynasty."

"You know him?" Milliardo sounded impressed.

"Only through his work and the occasional special on the history channel," his lover admitted. "But I had asked Doctor Mayfield to contact him and see if she can talk him into giving a lecture of some sort at the school while he is in town."

#

"Guys!" Quatre waved at his friends as he and older man approached. "I would like you to meet someone. This is Dr. Nassar Hazzir, a old...acquaintance of mine. Dr Hazzir, these are my friends... Professor Treize Khushrenada, he teaches History at my college, btw. Milliardo Peacecraft..." the young man introduced the small group one by one, leaving out only Alexander, for obvious reasons.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Hazzir." Treize shook hands with the archaeologist.

"It is **my **pleasure," Hazzir replied.

"So, how do you and Quatre know each other?" Wufei wanted to know. "He has never mentioned anything to us."

"It was a long time ago. When I was just about 9 my father had to go to Cairo for a few weeks. It was during my summer school break and he decided to take me along, telling me that a friend of a friend had volunteered to give me a special lesson in Egyptian history. I can't say I was impressed, at least not until I found out my 'tutor' was a real live archaeologist and my 'classroom' the middle of the desert where they had just started to work on a new dig site. In those 4 weeks I learned more about the 13th dynasty...scorpions and the unpredictable weather in the Egyptian desert, than most learn in a lifetime. It was the most amazing history lesson one can imagine." The young man gave Treize a apologetic smile. "Sorry, Professor, no offense."

"I'm not offended," the older man laughed. "Just extremely jealous. Working on a real dig-site... did you actually find anything while you were there?"

"Unfortunately no; like I said the dig just started when I was there." Quatre shook his head. "Maybe Dr. Hazzir can tell us some more about that? He had been working on it or years."

"I would love to," the archaeologist replied. "But the director of museum is waiting for me. I will have to go find him."

"Try his office," the professor suggested. "That's where he was going a while ago . The sheriff was with him ."

"The sheriff; from the police? Oh, good. I was looking for him too. I'm sure you heard about what happened last night?!"

"About the break-in and theft?" Quatre nodded. "Yes, we know."

"Its very unfortunate. A man was hurt during the robbery," the archaeologist added. "I hope he will be alright. Maybe the sheriff can tell me."

"Yes, we heard about that too," Treize told him. "I didn't realize you knew the guard."

"Not well," Hazzir admitted. "But we talked last night before I went back to hotel. He told me about his family. His youngest daughter is studying art in Italy. School is expensive he said. That's why he was still working. But once he daughter was done with school he wanted to hang up the uniform and start traveling. Egypt was on the top of his list...Well, I would better go now. But perhaps we can talk some other time? Mister Winner, will you call me...here at the museum?"

"Absolutely." The young man nodded.

"Good bye for now." Hazzir nodded to Quatre and his friends.

"Good bye."

As the archaeologist walked away he paused and threw one last look back at the group.

Treize frowned slightly. For a moment there he could have sworn that Hazzir's gaze was fixed on the empty spot between him and Milliardo, the very spot where he could feel Alexander's presence.

"Seems like a nice guy." Wufei remarked as the man disappeared through a large door.

"Yeah," Milliardo agreed. "Very nice guy. So, are we all ready to leave now?"

"Why the hurry?" Trowa grinned. "Afraid of a severe case of cultural over-exposure?"

"No, but we left Cabal alone, in the kitchen. I'd like to get home while we still have a kitchen to come back to."

"Ah, good point," his lover agreed. "I think we **should **leave. That peanut butter bone we left him with won't last forever."

* * *

TBC

Author's Note: As always, thanks for the reviews. I have a few more chapters ready to post. So keep your eyes open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 3

"Is everything alright?" Trowa threw a quick look in Quatre's direction as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. They had dropped off Wufei at work, stopped at a little jewelry shop to buy a present for one of Quatre's sisters and were now finally on their way home. "You have been awfully quiet ever since we left the museum."

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking."

"About?" The brunette wanted to know?"

His friend shrugged. "Stuff. Seeing Dr Hazzir again brought back a ton of memories. You know he was the first person - aside from my family, of course - that knew about my...'gift'. I'm not sure he fully understood but I could talk to him and he helped me make some sense of things."

"He does seem like a decent enough guy," Trowa agreed as he turned on the blinker and changed into the left lane. "And very down to earth for someone of his fame and position. His concern about that injured security guard speaks volumes."

"He once told me that spending so much time researching death has given him a special appreciation for life. I wasn't sure then what he meant by that but I think I am starting to understand now."

"Life is precious, you don't need to be an expert in dead things to know that." Trowa pointed out.

"True," the other youth agreed. "But most people don't consider their own mortality until faced with death in one way or another."

"I suppose."

Silence fell once again over the car's interior, until Quatre suddenly raised his head, as though he had made an important decision.

"I need to speak to Treize and Milliardo," He declared.

"Ummm...," His friend frowned a little. "Well, go ahead. I haven't heard of any law stopping **YOU** from using your phone while **I** am driving."

"No, I mean in person."

"Now?" Trowa's frown deepened. After all it had been less than two hours since the group had split up outside the museum.

####

"We are back!" Treize announced as he walked into the house. He had taken Cabal for a walk to the local shopping center to pick up a couple of things they were going to need for dinner.

As he let the dog off the leash the professor's eyes fell upon his leather briefcase, the one he was keeping all of his school papers in, and he frowned slightly. He would sworn he had left it on top of the shoe bench and not beside it.

And then when he entered the kitchen to put away he groceries he knew why. There on the table sat his black laptop, which he knew had been in the briefcase when he had left. Mystery solved.

"Milliardo," he called out, a hint of disapproval in his tone, while he put the vegetables into the fridge. "Next time you use my laptop at least put it back where you found it."

"Why would I use your laptop?" His lover's voice came back from the living room.

"You didn't?"

"Of course not. I **do **have my own computer, as you know."

"But..." The professor frowned then suddenly dropped his shoulders. "Oh no! Don't tell me..."

He reached for the laptop, turning it around so that the screen faced him and pressed the power button... Once...twice...and a third time. There was no sign of life, no flickering of the power light, no sound of the hard drive booting up.

"Not again." Treize swallowed a curse. "Alexander Khushrenada!" He yelled, clearly annoyed "Get down here, at once!"

The hollering brought Milliardo into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

"He broke the laptop again," the professor grumbled "How many times did I tell him to stay away from the electronics? How many times?" He repeated as he felt the ghostly presence draw near. "One would think you would know better by now."

"Oh come on, I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," his lover tried to appease him. "And it's not like he tried to hide what he did either."

"That is not the point." Treize insisted. "I have all my notes on that computer. Notes that I need tomorrow morning at school. Heero is still out of town. If I can't find a place that get the hard drive working again I will have to redo everything. And..." He emphasized with a pause. "Whatever I have to pay for the repair or a new computer it will be coming out of your movie rental budget, Alexander, is that clear? What in the world did you need to use a computer for, anyway?"

The ghost disappeared, only to return a few moments later with one of the brochures they had brought home from the museum.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Treize frowned as the booklet dropped down on the table in front of him.

A sudden gust of wind turned the pages to an article about the Egyptian exhibit.

"Oh no, don't even try to change the subject. We are not going back to the museum." The professor declared firmly as he closed the brochure. "And we are far from done here."

Apparently Alexander begged to disagree. He opened the booklet again to the same page.

Treize's frown deepened into a scowl, and Milliardo wondered if this was the time for him to step in, just as the door bell rang.

Saved by the bell. Or so it seemed. With a last glare directed at his great-grandfather, the professor walked out of the kitchen to answer the door.

"Trowa Quatre?! How are you?" He would have been lying if he wasn't surprised to see their friends.

"Is this a bad time?" Trowa asked. "It sounded like you guys were...well... having a bit of an argument."

"Oh no, come in, please. It's just... Alexander seems to keep forgetting that ghosts and electronics don't mix. He broke my laptop again. But anyway," the professor added as he led their friends into the living room. "What brings you here?"

"We have to go back to the museum!" Quatre announced plainly and firmly.

Treize's head snapped around. One of his eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "Is this some kind of conspiracy?"

##

"Something happened at the museum," the young man tried to explain a few minutes later when the four...five of them were sitting together in the living room.

"Yes, we know." Milliardo replied softly, exchanging a long look with his lover.

"I'm not talking about the break-in and such."

"Not?" The professor asked surprised as he gazed at Trowa questioningly.

The young man simply shrugged. "Don't look at me. He refused to tell me anything until we got here."

"So, then what are you talking about?"

Quatre sighed. "Remember when you guys went to the giftshop and I left to use the bathroom...? Well let's just say the bathroom wasn't the only place I visited. When I came out I felt a presence and thought it was Alexander. So I followed it."

"Followed it where?" Trowa demanded.

"I might have sneaked into the staff only section of the museum," Quatre ducked his head at the admission and gave the young man a sheepish look.

"Quatre!"

"See, what's exactly why I didn't want to tell you earlier. I knew you would get angry before hearing me out."

"I'm not angry. I'm just...fine go on."

"So I eventually ended up in some storage room in the basement. I truly though I would find Alexander down there."

"But you didn't." Treize assumed.

The blonde shook his head. "It wasn't Alexander, but someone...something was there. And it was angry...very angry. I'd never felt such strong emotions, such resentment and anger... Frankly, it scared the heck out of me. I got out of there as fast as I could."

"Hmmm..." Trowa mused. "The security guard is alive, isn't he? So it couldn't have been him. I mean he would have a real good reason to be ticked off."

"No, I don't think so." Quatre shook his head. "This...thing was old and powerful. It had a long time to get to the point it is now."

"Then what are you suggesting?"Treize leaned back in his chair and looked at the young man firmly. "Someone else might have died at the museum, some time ago?"

"Frankly, I don't know what to think yet. That's why I want to go back..."

"You can't be serious, Quatre. Do you really believe I would let you go back to this place after what you just told me?" Trowa looked at his friends, expecting them to back him up.

And they did.

"Trowa is right, there is no saying what could happen," the professor pointed out, and even Milliardo nodded in agreement.

"I know I know." Quatre replied. "Trust me, I'm not crazy enough to enter that basement again. At least not before we know more. I just want to go back to the museum. Something there isn't right. I can't put my finger on it quite yet, but I have a feeling there is more to this whole break-in story than it seems... What?" The young man suddenly frowned. "Slow down Alexander you are making no sense."

"What is it?" Treize wanted to know. Even he could feel the intensity of the ghost's presence rise. It usually meant that Alexander was angry or very excited about something.

"I'm not sure what he is trying to say. Alexander, what do you mean by "its the wrong mummy?"

"What mummy?" Milliardo frowned.

"I don't know. Like I said, he doesn't make sense. All he keeps sayings is that's the wrong mummy."

"There weren't any mummies at the museum, were there?" Treize said. "I mean, they would be in the Egyptian exhibit, wouldn't they? And we never got to see that."

"Well..." Trowa mused. "Just because WE didn't get to see it doesn't mean he didn't, right? After all he went off exploring on his own, didn't he? And he was gone for..." The young man's eyes suddenly went wide and he swallowed as he took an involuntary step backwards. "What the...?! I think he just flicked my nose."

Quatre bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

"Nose...Knows! I guess he is trying to tell you that you are on the right track," Milliardo concluded. "So you DID sneak into the Egyptian exhibit, didn't you Alexander?"

"That still doesn't explain what he is talking about," his lover pointed out. "All we know that 'it is the wrong mummy" whatever that means. Alexander, is that what you were doing on my computer; researching mummies? Quatre, maybe you can figure out what he means."

"Well, I guess it's worth a try."

"Ah...on second thought, let's work on that in the car," Treize checked his watch. "If we want to get back to the museum before it closes we'd better leave now. Alexander, you are riding with Trowa and Quatre!"

####

"You want to know what...? If all my mummies are accounted for? This is some kind od joke, isn't it?" The expression on his face made it very clear what Dr. Snyder thought about the question asked by his visitors.

"I assure you it is not."

"With all due respect, Professor...Khushrenada it was, wasn't it..."

Treize cut the man off with an impatient hand gesture. "Please, Doctor, spare us the 'with all due respect' part. We all know that 99% of the time it is followed by something not very respectful. I do understand your reservations and I can tell you don't believe us. But perhaps you could at least indulge us. I mean what would be lost by going upstairs right now and checking on the mummies just to be sure?"

Snyder exchanged a brief look with the sheriff then finally shrugged with a sigh. "Very well. If that's what it takes to convince you that you are wrong."

Sheriff Bonaparte nodded. "I agree. I think we all will sleep a little better once we are sure."

It had been a quarter to six, just before closing time at the Browers and he had been on his way out after a long night and an even longer day, looking forward to a cold beer, a hot shower and a soft bed, when one of the museums' interns had caught up with him and told him that someone was asking for him at the front desk. When Bonaparte returned to the desk and realized who that 'someone' was he knew instantly that it could be a while before he was going to see his bed.

"Well, shall we go then?" he suggested. "The quicker we get this over with the faster we all get to go home, right?"

Leading the way, Dr. Snyder showed the small group to the second floor south wing where the Egyptian exhibit was located. The two policemen who had guarded the staircase earlier had left by now; probably when the museum closed.

"We currently only have two mummies on display," the director explained as he unlocked the door to the room with his key card. "And they have been here at the museum for six months now. A way to drum up interest ford the Egyptian exhibit you could say."

"Judging by the number of people that showed up for the opening today it seemed to have worked," Milliardo remarked as he looked around.

For him and his friends, Alexander excluded of course, this was the first look they got of the exhibition hall. The large room was decorated to resemble the inside of a Egyptian pyramid, down to very realistic looking electrical torches which flickered to life moments after they entered. Along the walls several chairs, replicas of furniture found in actual tombs, invited visitors to have a seat and rest while taking in the ambiance of the exhibit.

"Indeed," Snyder agreed. "Of course the break-in last night put a bit of a dampener on things."

He walked over to the display of a well wrapped body resting inside some kind of Plexiglas box. "As you can see, the mummy is protected not only by a very sophisticated alarm system, but also by this climate-controlled chamber which can only be opened with a special security code."

"Just out of curiosity, where and how do museums acquire mummies these days," Trowa wanted to know. "I mean it's not like they can go dig them up themselves anymore."

"There are different ways. In our case they are on loan from the Museum of History, Chicago. This particular one was a donation from a private citizen years ago. He had come across it after buying an estate in an action and decided he didn't want to keep it. But where it came from and how it got into the possession of the precious owner nobody knows."

"I heard it was very fashionable during Victorian times to own mummies and give big 'unwrapping' parties for entertainment," Quatre said. "But this one looks perfectly preserved. So I guess it might have been in the hands of a real collector or so."

"Yes, that's very possible. Now these...," the director continued as he approached the second display. The mummy, enclosed in Plexiglas just like the first, was also resting inside a coffin with a large ornate lid exhibited beside it. "...are the remains of a nobleman who died during the 18th dynasty, the time of Tutankhamen. According to the cartouche on his sarcophagus, his name was Meriptah and he served as the governor at a small province in the East and was... Oh my gosh..." The director suddenly turned several shades paler. "This is...impossible...," he stammered, as he staggered backward. His knees seemed to give out and he would have surely collapsed to the floor if not for the speed with which Alexander moved one of the chairs behind the man.

Quatre drew a sharp breath and exchanged a quick glance with his friends. But Snyder was too stunned to even realize what had happened, and fortunately the sheriff who was leaning over the sarcophagus studying the mummy, hadn't noticed it either.

"Are you alright, Dr Snyder?" Treize asked concerned.

"Uh...What? No! No, I am not alright. I am ruined!"

"Ruined?" Sheriff Bonaparte turned his head. "Why?"

"Because this is not MY mummy?"

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 4

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely!" The museum's director seemed almost offended by Bonaparte's suggestion that he might not recognize his own mummy. "Although this **is** an excellent example of mummification, it is **not** Meriptah. And it wasn't done in the 18th dynasty either."

"How can you tell?"

"Over the centuries priests developed their own unique style of preparing and wrapping the bodies. The differences are subtle but not that difficult to recognize for someone who knows what to look for. I have devoted a lot of time studying different mummification techniques. Let me show you..."

Fully in his element the director seemed to recover from his initial shock and the color was beginning to return to his face. Treize felt almost sorry to have to bring the man back to earth.

"I'm sure we would love nothing more than to hear your interesting facts, but first aren't there a few more important things that need be taken care of? Like finding out where this mummy came from, and where the real Meriptah is?"

"Ah, right...right. I should call the Museum of History, shouldn't I? How am I going to explain this to Dr. Hardinger? It's an absolute disaster. Please excuse me!" Snyder looked completely frazzled as he walked off to make his phone call. He seemed to be one of those people who didn't deal too well with emergencies, and functioned best when nothing unexpected interrupted their daily routine.

Sheriff Bonaparte on the other hand seemed as unnerved as always as he turned toward Professor Khushrenada and his companions.

"Mind telling me again how exactly you heard this little rumor about the missing mummy?" He asked, in the same tone of voice he might have used to inquire about the weather or yesterday's baseball results. Only the alertness in his eyes betrayed his otherwise calm demeanor.

"Well..." Treize gave a somewhat lopsided smile. "I'm not sure how to explain this, but..."

"Sheriff!" Quatre interrupted his history teacher. "When we worked on the case of the missing Marymount students, you once said that you had learned to never question my instincts."

Bonaparte gave the young man a guarded look, even as he admitted. "I did, didn't I?"

"Well then, let's consider this one of those times where you just will need to trust me. Like Professor Khushrenada said, it is difficult to explain, but in the end...I'm quite sure, everything will make sense."

For a long moment the sheriff studied Quatre carefully. Finally he nodded, more or less to himself. "Well then, I'd better go and find myself a phone and let those guys from the forensic team know that they will have to come back in the morning. I **do** take it that neither of you is involved in some kind of crime connected with this?" He let his gaze sweep over the four younger men, and one by one each of them shook their head.

"No Sir."

With another nod, but without another word Bonaparte walked away.

Quatre let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "He scares me a little," the young man admitted.

"Yeah," Trowa agreed. "And it would scare me a lot more if he wasn't on our side."

"Amen to that." Milliardo nodded. "Sometimes I wonder how much he actually knows."

Silence fell over the hall for a long moment before Quatre finally declared: "Well, should we take the opportunity and have a look at the exhibit before someone comes to throw us out?"

###

"Wufei is going to be so jealous when he finds out about this." Milliardo stopped to read the plaque beneath a set of richly decorated spears. "He wanted to see this exhibition more than anyone."

"I'm sure he will be fine," his lover replied. "Why did he have to work today anyway? I thought he had taken the day off?"

"Something about some roof repairs on the house." Trowa shrugged. "I think Heero scheduled it a while ago and forgot to change the appointment. Or maybe he just thought they would be back home by now."

"Speaking of which...anyone knows when they will come back, anyway?" Quatre wanted to know.

"Soon I suppose." Treize replied. "I talked to Heero yesterday and asked if he wanted me to put in an official leave of absence with the school, but he said that wouldn't be necessary. I also offered to have my personal lawyer flown over to Nevada. He declined that offer as well. I guess things are finally rolling now that the FBI got involved."

"That's good to hear...Wow, look at this jewelry..." Quatre was leaning over a velvet rope barrier to get a better look at the items in question. "How heavy do you think all those stones are? Seriously... could you imagine having to wear something like that?"

"Maybe for Halloween." Milliardo replied dryly.

"Careful Quatre, don't set off the alarm system by accident," his bodyguard warned.

"I know, I know. I just wish we could get a little closer," the young man sighed. "The craftsmanship looks ama...Alexander! No, don't," he suddenly shouted in alarm, just as all the lights in the room flickered for a brief moment before returning back to normal.

"What happened?" Treize Khushrenada demanded. "What did he just do?"

Quatre cringed. "I think...he sort of shorted out the alarm system for this display...Sorry."

"Alexander!" the history teacher admonished. "What are you thinking? You can't just go around..."

"Hello?! Is somebody in this room?" A voice suddenly inquired from somewhere in the direction of the door.

The quartet exchanged some startled looks before Milliardo answered.

"Yes, we are here in the back."

"Oh! I'm sorry." The voice, accompanied by footsteps, came closer, until a young man rounded one of the walls that divided the room into several sections. Treize recognized him as the intern who earlier had led them to the director's office. His name was Peters or Peterson if he remembered correctly.

"I almost locked the doors on you. I didn't realize someone was still in here. If I hadn't heard you talk..." the young man grinned sheepishly. "Dr Snyder told me to close everything up. Apparently, the police will be back in the morning."

"Ah yes," the professor nodded. "Then we should leave. By the way...we just noticed there seems to be some kind of problem with the alarm system on one of your displays." He gestured over his shoulder at the display in question.

"Again?!"

"Again?" Quatre echoed curiously.

"Yes," the intern nodded as he started to lead the small group out of the exhibition hall. "Darn thing broke down several times this past week. We had to call the company in for repairs and they can't find the problem that's causing it. Maybe some problem with the wiring they say. No idea why they call it state of the art."

"Maybe one of those things that breaks down as soon as the warranty is up," the blonde joked and the other youth smirked.

"Yeah maybe." He turned off the lights and locked the door with the same kind of security card the director had used earlier.

"Say, you wouldn't know by any chance where the sheriff is now, would you?" Treize asked the young man.

"Last time I saw him he was using the phone in the curator's lab. First floor, South wing. Do you want me to show you the way?"

"I'm sure we will be able to find it on our own."

"Well then, I'd better let Dr. Snyder know about that security system failure." With a nod the intern excused himself and walked away.

As soon as the young man was out of earshot Milliardo turned toward Quatre. "Am I mistaken or did I just see a whole array of light bulbs turn on in your head the moment he mentioned the previous problems with the alarm system?"

"No mistaking there, I saw it too," Trowa insisted.

"Remember what I told you earlier, about the spirit in the basement?"

"Yes?!"

"Think about it. If Alexander here can short out electrical devices at will...and by accident, I bet so can he. But the problems only started about a week ago.. Which means...?"

"Casper the unfriendly ghost hasn't residing here long enough to even pay rent." Milliardo concluded.

"Bingo!"

Treize raised one curious eyebrow. "So, what are you saying? We should try to find out what items have been added to the museum's collection within the past week or so?"

"Precisely. At least it's a starting point, isn't it?"

"Makes sense," Milliardo agreed. "But how does it help us find our missing mummy?"

"Excuse me, but how and when exactly did it become OUR missing mummy?" The professor looked at Trowa for some kind of support, but the young man just shrugged in resignation.

"I stopped asking those kind of question a long time ago."

"Well, we have got to do something right?"

"Yes," Treize replied. "We have got to let the police do their job."

He could tell by the looks on Milliardo and Quatre's faces that the two didn't agree with him. And somehow he had a feeling that he couldn't count on his great-grandfather 's support either. Finally the older man sighed.

"Fine. Maybe we can do a little discrete investigating on our own, but anything we find out we will share with the sheriff. And..." He looked to his right where he could feel Alexander's ghostly presence. "You will keep your distance from any electrical equipment. If you break anything else, I swear you will be grounded for the next hundred years."

###

By the time the quartet reached the museum's lobby Sheriff Bonaparte was talking to one of the night watchmen who had just arrived. The security company had decided to put two guards on duty during the night, at least for the time being.

As he noticed the group the sheriff waved them over before finishing his conversation.

"I was wondering whether or not you were still here," he greeted them as the guard walked away.

"We were just about to leave." Treize told him. "Unless of course, you still need us for anything?"

"No, I don't think so. Not much more that can be done tonight anyway. The forensic team will be back in the morning. We will see what they can find."

"Sheriff," Quarter wanted to know. "Do you think the theft of the mummy is connected to last night's break-in?"

"I'm not sure." Bonaparte admitted with a sigh. "Who would want to steal a mummy to begin with?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of so called collectors out there willing to pay a king's ransom to get their hands on any kind of ancient artifact," Treize pointed out.

"For the right amount of money one can buy anything." Trowa added.

The sheriff gave another sigh. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm afraid I have to agree with you on that one, Mister Barton."

"There is, of course, one more thing to consider," Milliardo reminded everyone. "The person who stole Meriptah did not just take him. He replaced the body. So, where did he get that other mummy from? And who is it?"

"Well, I hope we will be able to answer that question once the medical examiner is done with the body." Bonaparte told him.

"Medical Examiner? You can't be serious." The museum's director had approached the group while they were talking.

"Ah, Dr. Snyder," the sheriff greeted him. "Did you make your phone call?"

"Yes and no I suppose. Dr. Hardinger is on vacation; I was only able to reach his secretary. I left a message with her for him to call me once he gets back. I guess that gives me a little deprieve. And perhaps with a little luck..." he gave the sheriff a hopeful look. "The police will be able to find Meriptah before Dr Hardinger returns."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Dr. Snyder. We will of course do our best, but I wouldn't get my hopes up too high. Break-ins like these are rarely solved in a matter of days."

"Yes, I suppose. But say Sheriff, you are not seriously considering having the ME examine the mummy? I mean Medical Examiners are trained to work with fresh or relatively fresh bodies, not a corpse that might be a few thousand years old."

"What choice do we have?"

It might not be the mummy of Meriptah, but it could still be a priceless artifact, perhaps even a national treasure to the Egyptian people. We can't just unwrap it and chop it up."

"Dr. Snyder is right," Quatre nodded. "It's important that the mummy remains intact."

"I agree," Treize Khushrenada added. "What we need is an anthropologist or better even a forensic anthropologist to examine the remains, not the local M.E."

"An antrop...what?"

"Anthropology, the study of humanity and human beings," Dr. Snyder explained.

"Alright, where do we find one of those? You have one working here at the museum?"

Snyder gave a semi-amused huff. "You have obviously no idea how limited our budget is."

"I will take that as a No."

"As it turns out," Treize once again spoke up. "I have a acquaintance who works in the field. He is employed at the Smithsonian and has in the past helped out the military as well as the police with the identification of human remains. His name is Nueves..."

"Professor Carlos Nueves?" the director asked.

"You know him?"

"I know of him. I read several of his studies on early European civilization. Quite fascinating. But from what I understand Professor Nueves is on hiatus, doing charity work in Africa."

"Yes, I know," Treize confirmed. "He is aiding a humanitarian group in the identification of genocide victims in Rwanda, a cause he has been supporting for many years. In fact he and I met while he was doing similar work in Bosnia. My company was providing protection for him and his team."

"But how can he help us when he is not in the country...not even on the same continent?"

"Sheriff," the professor smiled gently. "We are living in the age of modern technology and satellite phones, you know. The world has become a lot smaller than it used to be. Doctor Snyder, do you have a CAT scan machine at the museum?"

"Not one big enough to scan a mummy if that's what you are asking," the director told him. "But the hospital in Northwood owns a portable unit which we have borrowed in the past."

"Do you think they will loan it to you again?"

"I suppose so."

"Great. Then you can take care of that. We will need the most detailed scan you can get, and a tissue sample for DNA testing would be great too. I will call Professor Nueves' daughter in the morning. She will know how to reach him."

"And what would you like me to do, Professor?" Sheriff Bonaparte inquired, the slight hint of sarcasm in his voice hard to miss.

Treize gave a somewhat sheepish smile. "Sorry, Sheriff. I still tend to forget every once in a while that I'm not wearing the stripes anymore."

"Nevertheless, I think your plan seems solid. Just remember to keep me in the loop."

"Of course."

"Do you really think identifying the mummy will help to identify the thief?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"Most likely thieves, Mister Peacecraft," the sheriff corrected. "Plural. It seems unlikely that one person alone would be able to pull off a heist like this. I mean walking away with a Canopic jar is one thing, but a mummy... It would take at least two people to move it, not to mention a truck or van for transportation, keycards for the exhibition halls, not to forget the access code for Snow White's glass coffin."

"Sheriff, are you suggesting an inside job?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Doctor Snyder. But seriously, what are the chances of a total stranger getting their hands on those keycards?"

"How many people have cards anyway, if I may ask?" Milliardo gave the director a questioning look.

"Just myself, and the main curator..."

"And your intern. I saw him use it when he locked the door after us."

"Oh, that was my personal card. I just gave it to him when I sent him to close everything up. He doesn't have his own."

"What about the security guards?"

Treize Khushrenada frowned slightly. He was almost sure Sheriff Bonaparte's expression grew a few degrees darker at that question.

"Of course not," Snyder insisted. "There would be no reason for them to have access to anything. However, just in case of an emergency there is a dead switch build into the system that allows the guard on duty to turn it off completely. But that would require a full system reset afterward, so it can't be done unnoticed."

"Unless someone has enough tech-savvy to do their own reset," Trowa pointed out. "By the way, I noticed a number of surveillance cameras here in the lobby as well as in the exhibition halls. I assume those were running last night?!"

"Yes and no." Bonaparte replied. "For some reason they broke down just at the wrong moment."

"All of them?" Milliardo exclaimed surprised.

The sheriff nodded. "One after the other. One moment they were working and then they fizzled into darkness..." He crooked his head slightly, his face a mask of contemplation. "Now that I think about it, it was almost like with that camera we set up in Professor Diciasetto's office at Marymount. Anyway, the tapes are very much useless. I assume the intruder knew about the surveillance cameras and somehow managed to short one of them out in a way that caused a chain reaction in the entire system."

"Sheriff would it be possible to get a copy of the surveillance recording?" Trowa wanted to know.

"Why? Like I said it is not much more than about thirty minutes of boring video and then static. The guard had just put in a new tape."

"Perhaps. but with the right equipment one might be able to restore a few frames here and there."

"Very well. I will have a copy made for you."

"Oh yeah and you might have also someone go over the recordings made days before the break-in. If you get lucky some person of interest might pop up."

"You mean someone 'staking out' the place? Yes, I thought of that, too. Already requested to have those tapes sent to me by the security company."

"Sheriff, may I ask you how much longer we will be staying?" Dr Snyder wanted to know. "My wife is waiting with dinner and I should really call her if I won't make it home."

"No need Doctor. We are pretty much done here. Nothing more can be done until tomorrow. I think we should all go home and get some rest. Good night!"

"Good night to you too. I will let the guards now that we will be leaving then."

* * *

TBC

Author's Note: Once again thanks for the reviews.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 5

Outside the museum Milliardo and his friends said their good-byes to Sheriff Bonaparte. They had come in two cars which were parked just across the street, while the sheriff's jeep was still standing in the lot behind the Brower.

As they waited for the light on the cross walk to change to green, the young man noticed his lover's eyes still fixed on Bonaparte, even as the sheriff had almost reached the end of the block.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure." Treize replied slowly, then turned toward him suddenly. "Do you think you and Alexander could catch a ride with Trowa, Dear?"

"I suppose." Milliardo frowned slightly, and their friend nodded.

"Sure, no problem at all."

"Thanks. I'll be home soon."

"What was that all about?" Quatre wondered as they finally crossed the street, while the professor was walking swiftly in the direction Sheriff Bonaparte had left in.

Milliardo shrugged. "Beats me."

"I'm sure he will tell you when he gets home." Trowa unlocked the car and opened the driver's door.

"He'd better. Unless he is prepared to sleep on the couch tonight."

Quatre gave a quiet chuckle. "Hey, do you mind if I take the back with Alexander?" he asked.

"Be my guest." Milliardo graciously opened the door for them before slipping into the front passenger seat.

"You know, I was thinking..." his friend said as he fastened his seatbelt. "If we could determine when the spirit in the museum started to make it's rounds, by finding out when exactly those problems with the alarm system begun, we should be able to narrow down the time of the theft of Meriptah's mummy."

Trowa threw a look into the rearview mirror. "You think the ghost in that basement room was him?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Even Milliardo had to agree. "I would be majorly ticked off too, if someone took off with my body. Alexander, what do you think?"

"He says it's possible. But maybe we should try to find out more about that Meriptah fellow," Quatre replied. "Say Trowa, how about dropping us off at the public library before you take Milliardo home?"

"Us?"

"Alexander and I."

####

"Sheriff?!" Treize Khushrenada caught up with the older man at the entrance to the parking lot.

Surprised Bonaparte turned his head. "Professor?! What gives?"

"Sheriff, you have been on your feet for almost 2 days straight. Perhaps it isn't such a good idea for you to drive right now."

A rare smile touched the bearded man's lips. "Thank you for your concern, Professor, but I wasn't planning to. I am just getting my phone from the car to call a taxi."

"Why don't you allow me to give you a lift, instead?" Treize asked.

"What about your friends?"

"They already left." It wasn't really a lie. "Besides, truth to be told, there is something I would like to talk to you about, if you don't mind."

Sheriff Bonaparte nodded. "In that case, I would be a fool to say no. Let me just grab my things."

The older man walked to the parked jeep, while Treize waited for him at the corner. A few moments later he returned carrying a well worn black attaché case.

"So, tell me, what is it you needed to talk to me about?"

"It's just that...I couldn't help but notice you seemed a little...shall I say **pensive **ever since your phone call to your office earlier," the professor explained as they walked together to his BMW. "I hope it's not bad news regarding your friend."

"Andrew Peterson?! No, his condition is unchanged which, according to his doctor, is a good thing right now. But I am a little concerned about him, you are correct." Bonaparte paused as he climbed into the car. "It's something I learned when I spoke to my deputy. The first preliminary report had just come in from the forensic team and something they found troubles me."

The sheriff paused again, longer this time, but Treize didn't push him. He slowly backed out of the parking space and pulled into the lane of traffic.

"It appears as though the broken window, which we assumed was how the burglar got into the building, might actually have been staged," Bonaparte finally continued. "Some shards of glass found outside, indicate that it was actually broken from the inside. And..." another pause. "glass particles were also found on Andrew's nightstick. It seems like it was the tool used to break the window."

"So the burglar used the nightstick after he had attacked the guard. Mister Peterson would have been in no condition to stop him, right?"

"True, but that wouldn't answer the question of how the burglar got into the museum in the first place. Remember my theory about this being an inside job?"

"You are worried that he might be that inside man?" Treize concluded.

"I'm trying to tell myself that the Andrew Peterson I know would never be involved in anything like this. But then I remind myself that it's been years since he and I worked together. People do change." Bonaparte looked straight ahead onto the road in front of them as he spoke. It was obviously hard for him to admit that he suspected his old friend.

"But if Peterson really was the inside man, the one person who gave the thieves access to the museum, why would they want to kill him?" The professor asked.

"Who knows? Maybe he wanted to get out? Maybe there was a falling out over money, or maybe his companion just didn't need him anymore? I'm sure I could come up with a dozen good motives. But what I can't think of is a reason why Andrew would be involved in something like that. Maybe he was blackmailed into it...?"

"Hmmm...Maybe money trouble," Treize guessed. "He told Dr. Hazzir that he was supporting his daughter who is still finishing up school. Tuition can cost a small fortune these days."

The sheriff's head snapped around. "What was that? Who did you say he told it to?"

"Dr. Nassar Hazzir, the Egyptian archaeologist," the tawny haired man repeated. "Why, what's wrong?"

Bonaparte had a deep frown line across his forehead. "From what I was told, Dr. Snyder had his intern drop Hazzir off at his hotel shortly before 5 pm. The night guards' shift doesn't start until 6:30."

Now Treize was frowning as well. _How could Hazzir have spoken to Peterson more than an hour before he was even working?_

"Perhaps Dr. Hazzir got the date wrong. He could have spoken to the guard a day earlier...? When was it he came to town?" he asked.

"He arrived Wednesday. But the guards work on a 7 days on 3 days off schedule," the sheriff explained. "Sunday night was Peterson's first night back on duty after his break. I guess I will ask Dr. Hazzir tomorrow what he has to say about this."

"He didn't mention anything to you when you spoke to him earlier?"

"When I asked him to confirm that the kid had driven him back to the hotel at 5 he did. After that there was no reason to question him any further. We knew the break-in didn't happen until much later."

"You don't really suspect Hazzir of being involved in this, do you?" Treize threw the older man a questioning look.

Bonaparte simply shrugged. "I hate to jump to conclusions, but I do like to cross all my 'T's and dot my 'I's."

###

"I'm home!"

A flash of furry lightning hurtled toward Treize Khushrenada even before the last word had left his lips. Laughing the tawny haired man braced himself for the assault. The dog was acting like he hadn't seen a human being in weeks.

"I'll take it I'm the first one home."

Although Cabal had lost the gawkiness common among most large breed puppies, and his fur had become long and silky, Treize was convinced by now that he was probably never going to grow up. But then, why should the dog be different from anyone else in this household?

"You probably need to go outside, don't you?" he asked as he scratched Cabal's furry ears.

With a yip that could only be a confirmation the hound turned and raced toward the back entrance. With a quiet chuckle Treize followed him to unbolt the doggy door. They had decided that it was safer to not leave the door unlocked at times when nobody was home. Cabal was a great companion, but a guard dog he was not. In fact, Treize could see him encouraging any thief to take the most expensive pieces all the while standing there wagging his tail.

Moments later Treize could hear the dog race back and fourth, along the long cobblestone way that let from one side of the garden to the other. The professor considered joining him outside, perhaps for a game of catch, when the ringing of the doorbell interrupted him.

"Coming," he called out as he made his way through the house. Moments later Treize opened the front door to find Wufei Chang outside, carrying no less than 3 boxes printed with the "Son's of Sicily" pizza chain logo.

One of his eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "Are you making deliveries now?"

"I don't." Wufei laughed. "When I got off work I found a message on my phone from Quatre. He said there was some news in the museum's case and asked me to pick up some pizza and come over."

"Well, **that** is news to me," Treize replied as he stepped aside to let his friend enter. "But then, I just walked in myself a moment ago. Why don't you bring the pies in the living room while I try to find out where the others are."

He pulled out his cell phone while Wufei slipped off his shoes.

"Pizza is here, where are you guys?" he texted to Milliardo. The message came back before he even slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"We are just pulling up."

The tawny haired man walked into the kitchen to grab paper plates and napkins from the pantry. Moments later when he heard the sound of the front door being unlocked, Treize turned his head. He blinked and had to do a double take when a mountain of books, at least two feet high, floated through the hall past the kitchen door followed by Quatre who was carrying several more volumes.

_Well I guess that explains where they have been. _

"Wow!" he could hear Wufei exclaim from the living room. "I thought there was a limit to how many books you can take out of the library at one time?!"

###

"So, we have a ghost who suddenly popped up out of nowhere like Waldo, a mummy that shouldn't be there and one that's missing, not to mentioned of course the break in that resulted in the injured guard and the missing Canopic jar, ...," Wufei summed up as he reached for the last piece of Hawaiian pizza. His friends had been filling him in on the story, while slowly chewing their way through the pies. "Sounds like they have a bigger problem at the Bowers than they are realizing."

In the kitchen Cabal threatened to break down the door, and howled in protest at being left out of the party. Milliardo and Treize had learned the hard way that curious puppies and pizza pies just didn't mix. Even after three baths and fifty bucks in doggy shampoos it took almost a full week to remove the stains left by the pizza sauce from the long white fur...Not to mention the stains left on the carpet.

Meanwhile, the array of books spread out on the carpet in front of the fireplace opened and closed as they were thumped through by a ghostly hand until Alexander finally seemed to have found the one he was looking for. The hardback hovered in mid air as the ghost flipped through it for a few moments before actually starting to read. It was a curious scene to say the least, but nobody in the room really seemed to take notice. Everyone had gotten so used to Alexander's presence; it would have probably felt stranger to not have him around.

"You know," Trowa announced suddenly. "There is one thing about this that troubles me."

"Only one?" The sarcasm in Milliardo's voice was hard to miss.

His friend ignored the remark as he went on. "We can't be sure when those mummies were switched, but I think we all agree that it happened prior to last night's break-in."

"I give you that." Treize nodded.

"So nobody knew, nobody noticed...they had pretty much gotten away with it. Why come back and risk exposure for something as insignificant as a little Canopic jar?"

"For one thing," Wufei pointed out. "We don't know if that's what they came for. They could have taken the jar just out of opportunity. For all we know they could have come for the second mummy. Or perhaps the jar isn't as 'insignificant' as we believe..."

"Could it possibly have belonged to... what's his name...the guy who got stolen?" Milliardo suggested, reaching for his beer bottle.

"His name was Meriptah," his lover told him. "You know, you might be on to something. The mummy and the Canopic jar together as a set, belonging to the same person would probably increase the value a lot."

"I could ask Dr Hazzir," Quatre suggested. "I mean, he should be able to tell us everything there is to know about that jar."

"Perhaps you should hold off on that for the time being." Treize replied.

The younger man frowned. "Why?"

"Quatre, how well do you think you actually know Dr. Hazzir?"

"How well? I'm not sure I understand what you mean. I would like to think I got to know him quite well during the time I spent at the dig. Why are you asking?"

"It is possible that he might have lied to Sheriff Bonaparte during the investigation."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Treize told the others about the talk he haa had with the sheriff on the drive home, including the revelation that the break in might have been staged, Bonaparte's concern about his old friend Andrew Peterson being involved in it, and that Hazzir couldn't have possibly talked to the guard when he said he did, if in fact he had left the museum before 5pm.

"No," Quatre shook his head resolutely. "If you are thinking that Dr Hazzir could be mixed up in this whole thing you are way off...waaaaay off, Treize. He is one of the most decent men I have ever met. You wouldn't even suggest it if you knew him better."

"Slow down," putting his hand onto his friend's shoulder Trowa tried to calm him. "Nobody here has accused him of anything. We are just looking at this from every angle."

"Well, and I am saying that we are wasting our time looking at Hazzir. I have known the man for more than 10 years…"

"Correction, Quatre. You knew the man ten years ago," the brunette reminded him. "Huge difference. People do change."

Unknowingly Trowa was using the exact words the sheriff had used when he spoke about Andrew Peterson, the guard.

"But it makes no sense. Think about it," Quatre argued. "Why would Dr. Hazzir want to steal a mummy? The Cairo museum is full of them; there are hundreds and hundreds of them that have not even been identified yet."

"Actually the Egyptians place great importance in their antiquities and their history," Wufei pointed out. "If we think about how many of their treasures have been moved out of the country over the centuries and put into collections and museums around the world, I wouldn't be surprised at all if they try to bring some of them back to Egypt."

"Yes, by buying them back or through diplomacy like the petition to have the Rosetta Stone moved from the British Museum to the Museum of Cairo, but not by stealing them."

"Hey," Milliardo shrugged, "some people might not consider it theft to take something back that originally belonged to you. And you have got to admit, Hazzir probably knows more about mummies than most. And he certainly would have access to them. Like you said, the store rooms of the Cairo museum are full of them. I'm sure there have to be bodies that are a lot less valuable than that of a well- known provincial leader."

"He wouldn't have had any problem moving the mummies in and out of the country, amongst all the artifacts that are being brought in for the exhibitions," Trowa pointed out.

Quatre groaned in frustration. "You guys are crazy, you know that? But I will prove to you that Nassar had nothing to do with this, if it is the last thing I do." He turned his head, smiling softly in the direction where he could feel Alexander's presence. "Thank you, I appreciate that. It's good to know that at least someone here is on my side."

* * *

TBC

Author's note: Thanks again for the reviews. For those who enjoy the "Ghost Detective" universe as much as I do, I hope you are pleased to know that I have at least another half dozen story lines lined up that will have the gang and Alexander not only solves crimes close to home. but also half way around the globe. Imagine Irish castles...Egyptian pyramids...ghost ships... and more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' is a short story set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 6

"Are you clairvoyant, Doctor Snyder? I haven't even had a chance to ring the bell yet." Bonaparte greeted the museum's director as he unlocked the main entrance to let him in. His deputy had dropped him off only a few moments earlier, before heading back to the station on his orders.

"Sheriff." Snyder gave a polite nod and a soft smile. "Actually I was just on my way out to make a phone call." He gestured at the cell phone in his hand. It was about 7:30 in the morning and most of the staff had yet to arrive. "I was going to call Brandon, our intern, and ask him to pick up some coffee on his way in. Would you like some, too?"

"Don't mind if I do," the sheriff nodded. "On second thought. Have him bring a few extra cups if you would. The gods of forensics will be here soon, and I'm sure they will appreciate an offering in the form of caffeine."

The director's smile grew a little wider. "If your team helps to find my mummy I will be more than happy to personally make those offerings. Excuse me."

While Snyder stepped outside to pick up reception for his cell phone, the sheriff waited in the lobby. By the time the director returned he was flipping through one of the museums brochures.

"I assume you want me to re-open the Egyptian hall for you and your men?"

"That would be helpful." Bonaparte followed the other man upstairs. "Say are you always working this early?"

Snyder shrugged. "It depends. Right now I have several projects I'm working on, and I would like to finish what I can while I'm still here."

"You are thinking of leaving?"

"Not by choice. As far as I'm concerned I could be happy at this post until my retirement. But after what happened the board of directors might have other plans for my future."

"You think they will be holding you personally responsible for the thefts? That would be a bit harsh, wouldn't it?"

"Well, we will see." Dr. Snyder swiped his keycard through the security lock, opening the doors to the exhibition hall. "Unless you need me, Sheriff, I'll be in my office making some phone calls. I left a message at the Northwood clinic last night, regarding the Cat scan unit, but I still have to follow up to see if it is available."

"Talking of phone calls. According to my deputy, the phone at the station has been ringing off the hook; mostly reporters inquiring about the break in."

"That would be my fault, I'm afraid," the director admitted. "I have been referring anyone from the press to you, because I wasn't sure how much of this case you wanted to make public."

"Good thinking," Bonaparte nodded. "Which reminds me. I meant to ask... How many people know about that missing mummy?"

"Hmm..." Snyder considered it for a moment. "Only the people who were here when we discovered it last night, I would say."

"And your intern."

"Brandon?! No...no I only told him to lock up and make sure the room stays closed until the police came back in the morning. And I didn't tell anyone else about it either. In fact I still have to get in touch with Dr. Hardinger from the Museum of History."

"Excellent. Let's keep it that way, for now at least," the sheriff suggested. "The fewer people who know, the better. As long as the perpetrator doesn't know the switch has been discovered he will feel safe."

"I'm all for that. But what about Professor Khushrenada and his Junior G-men?"

"No worries there." Bonaparte chuckled. "I've already called and sworn them to secrecy. I do realize they seem like an odd bunch, but they have helped in solving a number of old crimes already," the sheriff explained. "Including a murder that had been cold for a century and the disappearance and death of two local college kids in the 70s."

"Ah, yes I think I read about that case in the newspaper a while back. Where exactly do they get their information?"

"I don't have the slightest idea." The older man spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "And to tell the truth, sometimes I'm not sure I really want to know. Well, in any case... Could you let me know when Doctor Hazzir gets here? There is something I need to talk to him about."

"Oh, he is already here. You will probably find him in his office or in one of the research labs. He was going to take a look at a couple of items the museum acquired recently from a private donor."

###

"Doctor Hazzir?!"

The tall, dark-haired man snapped around, apparently surprised by the sheriff's voice. A polite smile formed on his lips. "Sheriff, you startled me."

"I'm sorry. That was not my intention. I have been looking for you."

"Oh?" Hazzir turned to close the door he had just emerged from. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to talk. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Umm...It's about the theft, yes? I promised Doctor Snyder to authenticate several artifacts for him, but that can wait I suppose. Should we go to my office? We will be more comfortable."

Sheriff Bonaparte was about to agree when a sound, akin to something hitting the floor, interrupted him.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Didn't you hear it; the noise just now?" The sheriff was sure it had come from inside the room he archaeologist had just left.

Hazzir shook his head. "I did not hear anything."

He was obviously lying. A dozen red flags went off in Bonaparte's head.

"Where does this door lead?" he demanded.

The other man gave a vague shrug. "Just a basement storage room."

"Is anybody down there?"

"I don't believe so."

"But you just were down there. How can you now know for sure?"

"I didn't see anything," Hazzir replied evasively.

The sheriff's brows narrowed. "Well then, let's check it out, shall we?"

"You can't!"

"I can't? Why is that?"

"The light...it is broken...everything is dark downstairs," the archaeologist told him. "That's why I came back up...to see Doctor Snyder and tell him."

"Oh well, that's not really a problem." Bonaparte replied as he pulled his flashlight from his belt and flicked it on. "See."

"Sheriff, there you are?!"

Just as he reached for the door handle Doctor Snyder called out to him, and the sheriff turned his head.

"Do you need me, Dr?"

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that the Northwood hospital will send the portable CAT scan unit over this afternoon." Snyder threw a look at Dr. Hazzir, apparently unsure how much he should say in front of his Egyptian colleague, then opted for a ambiguous. "You remember, for those tests I was telling you about...?"

"Ah yes. This afternoon...that should be fine. I'm quite sure the forensic team will be done by then. Oh, by the way...Dr. Hazzir was about to come to see you. Apparently the light in your basement isn't working?"

"Oh? That's strange. It was working just fine yesterday. Well, it's probably just the light bulb." Snyder sighed. "I'm not sure why we are wasting money on those so-called long lasting lights when they burn out after only a few weeks."

"What's down there anyway?" The sheriff wanted to know.

"Nothing really. Just empty boxes for the most part. Isn't that right?" The director gave Dr. Hazzir a questioning look.

The archaeologist nodded in confirmation. "Boxes and shipping crates mostly. Some packing material used to transport our artifacts."

"Why are you asking?" Snyder wanted to know.

"Heard something down there, a moment ago. In light of everything that happened I think it would be wise for me to check it out."

"Alone?"

The director's voice suddenly had a higher pitch to it. And even Nassar Hazzir swallowed.

"Shouldn't you request some backup?" Snyder asked, and his colleague nodded.

"I agree. If something is down there it is better to be cautious."

"Something?" the sheriff echoed.

Hazzir smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I meant somebody. Forgive my bad English."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with your English." Bonaparte assured him before turning to the director.

"Very well. Would you mind calling my deputy and ask to come over, Dr. Snyder."

###

Deputy Walker arrived about twenty five minutes later. On the sheriff's advice he had brought a couple of larger, stronger flashlights along.

Both Dr Snyder and Hazzir were watching when sheriff Bonaparte opened the door to the basement.

"Stay behind us!" he told the two men as he turned on the flashlight and opened the latch on his gun holster. He tried the light switch on the wall, just in case. But nothing happened.

Carefully one hand on their weapons sheriff and deputy started down the steep staircase. Below a large room with whitewashed walls and bare stone floors opened up in front of them. Bonaparte let his flashlight wander. The basement was empty except for a number of shipping crates and boxes of all sizes and shapes, just as he had been told.

With a gesture of his head he told his deputy to check the left side of the room, while he himself moved to the right. The beam of his flashlight caught a stack of crates that obviously had tumbled over and was now laying scattered across the floor. Perhaps that was the noise he had heard, he thought. But the question of who or what had caused the stack to collapse still remained.

A cold chill suddenly passed over the sheriff's body, followed by an eerie feeling that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"Sheriff, over here!" In the large, room Walker's voice almost echoed.

Bonaparte turned his head. His deputy was crouching over something in the far corner of the room. Even in the beam of his flashlight the older man couldn't make out what it was. But he saw something else, something that made the blood in his veins run cold.

"Watch out, Walker!" he yelled just as a large pile of wooden crates to the deputy's left started to tumble.

The young man tried to dive out of the way. For a moment Bonaparte wasn't sure if he succeeded. He couldn't see the deputy behind the scattered boxes.

"Walker?...**Walker?!**" He jumped forward, reaching the pile at the same time as Dr Hazzir and the director. Together they started to move the crates.

There was a groan and then a cough. The sheriff let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding when Walker staggered to his feet. The young man had lost his flashlight in the fall.

"Are you he hurt?"

Another moan as the deputy gingerly probed a tender spot at his left elbow. "Nothing that won't grow back," he announced dryly. "What happened?"

"What do you mean what happened? You knocked over that pile of boxes."

"But I didn't even touch it...!"

"I warned you." Doctor Hazzir sounded both angry and scared at the same time. "It's dangerous. Too dangerous down here in the dark."

"Perhaps you are right, Doctor." the sheriff agreed. "Maybe we should get the light fixed before we proceed."

"Hold on, Sheriff," Walker objected. "Just take a look at what I found." The young man had picked up his flashlight and directed the beam at an object on the floor, hidden between two large crates.

At first Bonaparte only saw some kind of fabric, but then he noticed a piece of ceramic, about twelve inches high and topped with what looked like the head of a coyote or jackal.

"It's the stolen Canopic jar!"

"Doctor Snyder is correct," Hazzir confirmed. "It is the jar that was missing."

"The thief must have hidden it down here," Snyder suggested.

"That's a possibility, I suppose," the sheriff concurred, even as he emphasized 'a' in a way that made it sound like "That's **one** possibility..."

Walker bend down, about to pick the jar up, when the older man stopped him. "Don't touch it," he warned. "Go, fetch someone from the forensic team. We need to get it fingerprinted before we put it into evidence."

"No, you can't!"

"I beg your pardon?" Sheriff Bonaparte raised one curious eyebrow at Nassar Hazzir, and even Dr. Snyder gave his colleague a surprised look.

"You cannot remove the jar from this museum. I will not allow it. Now that it has been found again, I and I alone have the authority to decide what happens with it," Hazzir insisted.

"He is right, Sheriff. All the museums included in this cultural exchange signed a contract with the Egyptian Government, agreeing that Doctor Hazzir would be completely in charge of all the artifacts brought by him into this country."

"Apparently, someone forgot to tell our thief about that." The sarcasm in Bonaparte's voice was hard to miss. "Very well. We will fingerprint and process the jar here, then turn it over into your custody."

"Thank you, Sheriff." Hazzir nodded politely.

"Don't thank me yet. And oh yeah, we will need your fingerprints for comparison."

"Of course."

Bonaparte turned toward his deputy. "What are you waiting for, Walker" he snapped. "a written and signed field order?"

"No Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." The young man hurried up the stairs, taking two steps at once.

"Should we wait upstairs?" Doctor Snyder suggested quietly.

The sheriff didn't answer. He seemed busy examining the jar and cloth it was covered with. As his flashlight slowly wandered over it the beam suddenly caught something shiny and sparkling in the darkness beyond.

Curiously Bonaparte leaned forward. He pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and used it to pick up the item, which turned out to be a pendant or amulet in the form of a beetle dangling from a gold chain.

"Well well, what have we here?" the bearded man shone the light onto the amulet, studying the elaborate details. The beetle was made from gold, it's wings inlayed with deep blue stones, and on the flat base he could make out some kind of markings or writing.

"Looks like there is something written here. If we are lucky it might be the owner's name. Would you be kind enough to have a look Doctor Hazzir?"

The archaeologist didn't blink. "That won't be necessary, Sheriff. It belongs to me."

"I know." Bonaparte pulled a small evidence bag from his pocket, dropping pendent and chain into it before sealing the bag. "I noticed you wearing it yesterday. It's a scarab isn't it; a symbol of good luck and protection? Any explanation how it ended up where I found it?"

"I do not know. Perhaps I lost it while I was down here. I have been in this cellar many many times."

"Yes, so I gathered. Well, I think I will hold on to it... for now. You and I, Doctor Hazzir, need to have a long talk, I believe."

* * *

TBC

Author's note: Well, it seems that my short side-story has taken on a lift of its own and developed into a full length feature. Kind of like Alexander, I suppose ;)  
I will try to get the next chapters out faster but this being the holiday season, the busiest season of the year for me at work, I can't make any promises.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 7

At first, when he pulled up, Treize only saw the black BMW with the tinted - and bulletproof - windows in front of the cozy, little Victorian house he and Milliardo had been sharing for more than a year now. But as he parked his own car, he noticed Heero's Jeep on the other side of the street, as well. Wufei had been driving it ever since Heero and Duo had left town.

As he climbed out of the car the professor grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat. It was filled with student papers he had planned on grading this afternoon, but somehow he had the feeling that was probably not going to happen.

#

"Yeah, right!" Quatre laughed as he set his bottle of coke down on the little leather coaster. "I can see myself tell that to my trust-fund lawyer. He would most likely scratch his head and suggest a good shrink. What about you, Milliardo?"

The young man shook his head. He, Wufei, Trowa and Quatre were sitting around the low coffee table in the living room, plotting and planning, with Alexander checking in on them every once in a while. "Wish I could help, but most of my money is tied up in escrow on those two new houses I'm buying, and what's left in my bank account isn't enough to impress anyone. How about Heero? As far as I know, he is pretty loaded, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but his situation is probably no different than Quatre's. He isn't even of age yet, so most of his money is probably held in trust," Wufei pointed out.

"Right. Hmmm..." Quatre mused. "Anyone else come to mind?"

The sound of the front opening followed by footsteps in the hall had everybody turn their head.

"I'm Home!"

"Welcome home." Milliardo exchanged a long look with his friends, a conspiratorial smirk crossing his face. "Treize, say... you do have money, don't you?"

The professor frowned slightly as he entered the living room. "Umm...Yes? How much do you need?" he asked as he reached for his wallet.

"A million, maybe a million and a half."

Treize blinked. "Does it have to be cash?" he asked dryly.

#

"Let me see if I got this straight... You want me to buy a 'Mummy'?" A good fifteen minutes later Treize Khushrenada had listened to what Quatre had called 'the perfect plan' to flush out the person behind the museum's thefts, but he still wasn't sure that he got the whole picture.

"Well, we are hoping it might not even come to that." Milliardo replied. "You see, the idea is to spread word that you are 'looking' to buy one. He is convinced that the thief is working not on his own, but for someone who is in the business of selling stolen artifacts. like some kind of art's dealer. Like Trowa mentioned yesterday, for the right price it is possible to find a market for anything and everything, one just needs to know where to look."

"Well, last night I made the mistake of telling Quatre that I know someone who has his ear to the ground. Someone who would be able to find out if there is a mummy, or other artifacts, from the Bowers museum for sale..."

"Other artifacts? You mean like the Canopic jar that was stolen Sunday night?" Treize asked.

"Actually I have a theory that there might be more." Quatre told him. "If they managed to replace a mummy and it went undetected for at least a week or so, who knows how many other items at the museum might be replicas?"

"Hmmm... That would be worth looking into," Treize agreed.

"In any case," Trowa continued. "Quatre made me call my... um.. 'friend' right then and there."

"He made you?" Milliardo grinned. "What did he do, put a loaded gun to your head?"

"Worse!" the brunette glanced down penitently. "He high-jacked the last batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and threatened to eat them all by himself."

"Wow, that's cold." even Wufei admitted.

Quatre snorted. "I warned you, didn't I? I'll do whatever it takes to prive to you that Doctor Hazzir has nothing to do with those thefts."

Treize Khushrenada gave a deep bubbling laugh. "You know, Quatre, people look at you and might think you are all cute and cuddly, but you have the tenacity of a Tasmanian Devil."

"I happen to love those little guys, so I'll take it as a compliment," the blonde grinned. "In any case, Trowa heard back from that guy this morning during physics class, and low and behold...a 'authentic Mummy of an Egyptian nobleman' has been put up for sale... for the right price and the right buyer of course."

"And that's where I come in, I presume?"

"Bingo!" Trowa nodded. "If you want to do it, that is. I figure that the dealer, if he is anything more than an amateur, will do some kind of background check on any potential buyer."

"...Make sure he can afford the 'merchandise'." Treize nodded. "Makes sense."

"You want to do it then? I mean, as an alternative we could involve my company and have them set up a fake identity. It will take some time and money, but it can be done." Trowa suggested.

"No, no, count me in. I'm glad to help, but don't you guys think it would be better to let the sheriff handle this? If we give them the information your…informant provided, they should be able to do something with it, right?"

"Out of question," the body guard declared firmly. "The sheriff would want to know where and how we got that information, and I can not and will not reveal my source."

"Besides," Milliardo pointed out. You know how it is; Sheriff Bonaparte has to go by the book. He can't do anything on mere speculation alone, and with what little we know so far he wouldn't even get a judge to listen to him, much less issue a warrant."

"Yes," Quatre nodded. "Once we actually know who the mysterious person is, selling the Mummy and those other artifacts, we can go to the police."

"Very well," the older man sighed. "It seems you have been giving this some thought, and I'm obviously outnumbered." He looked at Trowa. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"For now, not much." the young man told him. "If it is okay with you, I will call my man right now and tell him to get word out that you are interested in buying certain artifacts, and then we will wait."

"Alright." The professor nodded. "Let's do it. And if you don't mind, I shall go upstairs and get changed, while Trowa makes that call. You guys will stay for a while longer, won't you?"

Quatre shrugged. "We are in no hurry, but I think Wufei has to go soon."

"Not for another 40 minutes or so," the young man replied." I promised Heero to be at the airport when they arrive."

Milliardo made an amused sound. "They charter a private jet but don't have the pocket change to pay for a taxi?"

"Actually, I offered to pick them up," Wufei explained. "I love driving that jeep. Though, I would have loved driving the Silver Bullet even more. Too bad it only fits two."

"You promised to pick them up. But DID you promise to pick them up both at the same time?" Quatre asked cheekily.

His friend laughed. "Now there is an idea. Got to remember that for the next time."

Treize was smiling as he made his way up the stairs. He had just set foot on the top landing when the house phone started to ring.

"I got it," he called down to Milliardo as he headed into the study, to pick up the closest hand set.

"Hello?" Treize dropped into the deep brown leather chair behind the desk.

"Professor?!"

"Ah, Sheriff. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to let you know that Doctor Snyder has finished the CAT scans on that Mummy," Bonaparte explained. "He uploaded the files, including a number of photographs, to some remote server for Professor Nueves to access, and asked if you can pass on the login info to the professor."

"Consider it done, Sheriff. I spoke with Professor Nueves last night. He said he would be happy to help in this investigation."

"Great, thanks. Have you got something to write with?"

"Uh huh." Treize pulled a pen from the holder on the desk and ripped a piece of paper from the notepad. "Go ahead, Sheriff."

He scribbled down the hostname, user and password for the FTP account and read them back to Bonaparte just to be sure.

"Thanks Sheriff, I will let you know as soon as I hear from Professor Nueves."

"Thank you, Professor. By the way, I think you might be interested in knowing, we recovered that Canopic jar that went missing during the break-in at the museum."

There was a moment of surprised silence. "You have? Well, that's good news, isn't it? Does this mean you arrested the perpetrator?"

"Well, not exactly, I'm afraid. At least not yet."

"May I ask where and how you found the jar?" Treize asked. "Or is that something you would rather not make public?"

"Truth to be told, I would prefer not to announce it to the world just yet," Bonaparte told him. "But I'm quite sure I can trust you to keep it under wraps. We found the jar inside the museum…. hidden in a storage room in the basement!"

"Oh?!" Treize frowned. It seemed to make little sense for the thief to take the time to hide the item inside the museum before escaping. The size of the jar would have made it easy to conceal, even in a backpack or beneath a jacket.

"Yes, but that's not all…"

##

Milliardo gave his lover a surprised look when Treize walked back downstairs a few minutes later, still dressed in the gray suit he had worn for work.

"That was the sheriff on the phone just now," the tawny haired man explained.

"Did he have any news?" Quatre wanted to know.

"He did," the older man confirmed. "But I'm not sure you will like it."

The blonde frowned; the frown deepening until it turned into a full blown scowl as the professor told everyone in the room about the recovery of the stolen Canopc jar and the discovery of Dr. Hazzir's amulet next to it.

"I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation. As the sheriff told you, the basement the jar was found in was the same the artifacts from Egypt were stored in after their arrival. Dr Hazzir was in that basement many times before. He probably spent hours down their unpacking and sorting the collection. He could have lost the necklace at any time."

"You forget that he was still wearing it after the break in." Trowa pointed out.

"Well, maybe the thief planted it to frame Hazzir?

"That **would** reinforce Sheriff Bonaparte's suggestion that the theft was an inside job," Milliardo agreed. "It would assume it would have to be a person who can move around the museum undisturbed, and access any area without raising suspicion."

"Dr. Snyder comes to mind," Wufei remarked. "As the director he is one of the few people with unlimited access. And he claims to have never noticed that the Mummy had been switched, which seems a little odd, doesn't it?"

"Dr Hazzir didn't notice it either," Trowa reminded his friends. "And he is supposed to be THE authority on Egyptian artifacts."

Treize shrugged as he settled down on the couch next to his lover. From the patio door the professor could feel Alexander's presence draw near. Apparently their heated discussion had attracted their ghostly housemate's attention. "I think we are going in circles. because we just have too few facts to go on."

"But if Hazzir had stolen our Mummy, why would he try to sell it now?" Quatre pointed out. "I thought your theory was he was stealing the artifacts to return them to his country."

"Well, maybe we were wrong about that?" his bodyguard admitted.

"Well, maybe you are wrong altogether."

The blond suddenly frowned and looked in Alexander's direction. "Whose side are you on anyway?" he asked the ghost with a little pout.

"What?" Milliardo asked. "What did he say?" It could be annoying that Quatre was the only one who had the ability to actually communicate with Alexander. A ability that seemed to be getting only stronger as their bond grew.

"He is suggesting that maybe the Mummy that's being sold isn't **our **Mummy." The young man grumbled.

"It's a possibility," Treize admitted. "But. of course we can't be sure either way."

"Say, that storage cellar wouldn't happen to be the same one you sneaked into during our visit to the museum, would it Quatre?" Wufei suddenly change the direction of the conversation.

Quatre gave him a amused look. "Now what are you suggesting; that I am the thief who planted the chain with the amulet?"

"Now there is an idea. Do you have an alibi for the night from Sunday to Monday?" Milliardo asked his friend with a smirk.

"He was at home." Trowa answered instead. "I'm his ear-witness."

Treize raised one curious eyebrow. "Ear-witness?"

"Yes. He was snoring so loud, I could hear it all the way to the living room. In fact, I'm surprised the neighbors didn't complain about us 'using a chainsaw' all night long." Trowa grinned, earning himself a playful smack on the head from his friend.

"Is it my fault my allergies are acting up when you keep the window open all the time?" Quatre complained.

"Actually…" Wufei brought everyone back to his initial question. "It wasn't you I was accusing, Quatre. But I was just thinking of what you said, why you went into that basement…about the presence you thought you felt. If something really is down there, it might be something worth looking into."

"A necklace snatching ghost?" Milliardo laughed. "Alexander, does vanity exist in the spirit world as well?"

"Maybe he is not only snatching necklaces…?!"

Quatre's head snapped up, and everyone in the room suddenly grew serious as they realized what Wufei was actually suggesting.

"I should talk to Doctor Hazzir." Quatre looked at the professor. "Do you know if the sheriff arrested him?"

"No, he hasn't. As far as I know Hazzir volunteered to come by the sheriff station later this afternoon to talk to him and hopefully clear up the whole issue," the professor told him. "By now you should know Sheriff Bonaparte is a man with an open mind. If there is a 'reasonable explanation', as you call it, he will listen to it and accept it."

"But what is reasonable for us, might not be as reasonable for others," Wufei pointed out.

"True, but I think Bonaparte would still give Hazzir the benefit of the doubt," Treize told him. "Besides, the last thing he wants is to create some kind of international incident over this."

Quatre nodded. "I think you are right." He turned toward his bodyguard. "Do you mind taking me to the hotel where Dr. Hazzir is staying? Maybe I can catch him before he leaves to see the sheriff."

Trowa shrugged. "If that's what you want?"

"Thanks." The young man rose to his feet. "I will call him and let him know we are coming." He nodded at his friends. "Talk to you guys later."

"Good luck," Treize wished him. "And Trowa, let us know when you hear back from your friend."

"Got it," the young man assured him.

As the two of them were leaving, Wufei got to his feet. "I should probably be on my way, too. If I hit cross town traffic I might not make it to the airport in time."

Treize nodded. "I'll see you in school tomorrow. Give our best to Heero and Duo, and tell them to call once they have settled down."

"I will do that."

###

A short time later, after everyone had left Milliardo turned to his lover, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Now that all our friends have abandoned us," he asked, "what should you and I do with the rest of the afternoon?"

"Well," Treize replied. "I was going to slip into something more comfortable and then grade papers; unless of course, you have a better idea?"

A smirk curved the younger man's lips. "A better idea than grading papers? That should not be too difficult a task. How about both of us slipping into something more comfortable," he purred. "Like, lets say the hot tub?! We wouldn't even have to get out to cook dinner. There is still pizza in the fridge from last night."

"You always have the best ideas." Treize gave a deep chuckle. "That's why I love you so."

"And here I thought you only wanted me for my body."

Treize gave another laugh. "I refuse to answer that."

"Last one in the hot tub is a rotten egg." Milliardo declared already half way up the stairs.

His lover snorted. "Alexander, take care of Cabal, will you?" he called out over his shoulder before he raced after his lover.

* * *

TBC

Author's note:


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

'The Museum' set in my Ghost Detective universe set during the last days of 'The Junkyard' while Duo and Heero are still out of town, and at the beginning of 'The Piano'. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Museum  
**  
Chapter 8

Nassar Hazzir opened the door at the first knock. The hotel clerk had called a few minutes earlier to inform him of his visitors.

"Please come in." The archaeologist indicated a slight bow. "Consider my home yours."

Quatre Winner mirrored the gesture as he politely replied. "We accept your hospitality respectfully. - You remember my friend, Trowa Barton?"

"I do...from the museum. It is a pleasure to meet you again."

Trowa simply inclined his head in greeting.

"Please!" Hazzir gestured at the couch and chairs in the living area of the suite. But before the three men could settle down there was another knock at the door.

"Room service." their host explained. "I ordered tea for us."

He went back to let in the waitress, a young woman who smiled politely as she set three cups of steaming tea and a plate of what looked like almond cookies onto the low coffee table.

"Enjoy!" she wished as she left, accepting a generous tip from Hazzir on the way out.

The archaeologist closed the door behind her then joined his guests at the table.

"You said you needed to speak to me," he said, directed at Quatre. "I assume you have heard about what happened at the museum?"

The young man nodded. "Yes, we've heard. The recovery of the Canopic Jar is a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes it is," the archaeologist agreed, although without much conviction.

Trowa and Quatre exchanged a brief look.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course." Nassar Hazzir's smile looked somewhat forced as he admitted. "I am just a little nervous, I think."

"About your summoning to the sheriff's station?" Quatre asked. "I don't think you have anything to be nervous about. Sheriff Bonaparte is a good man and a very capable police officer. He will listen to your story with an open mind."

"Yes, I suppose. But he was acting very suspicious earlier."

"Suspicious?" Trowa echoed. "In what way?"

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I think I said that wrong. What I mean is, he seemed to be suspicious of me."

"Can you blame him? After all you had access to that basement, it was your amulet that was found next to the stolen jar, and you DID lie to him about when you left the museum Sunday night."

"Trowa!" Quatre admonished, but Hazzir raised his hand to stop him.

"No, Mister Barton is right." The archaeologist sighed. "It does look bad. To tell the truth, if I was the police, I would have arrested myself. But I assure you, I did not lie to the sheriff. He asked me if Mister Peterson, the young assistant had given me a ride back to my hotel as he claimed, and I confirmed that he did."

"But you came back later?" the blonde assumed, because it was the only thing that made sense.

Hazzir nodded. "I discovered I had left my reading glasses at my office. I couldn't sleep and wanted to go over some research for my new book. I took a taxi back to the museum and asked the driver to wait. The security guard let me in, I recovered my glasses, we spoke for a few minutes and I left." Another sigh. "Now I am thinking... If I would have stayed, done my work at the office instead of my hotel room..."

"You really need not blame yourself. Nobody could have foreseen what happened that night."

"Thank you, you are very kind."

"However, all of this doesn't explain what your amulet was doing with the jar when Sheriff Bonaparte found it." Trowa seemed determined to get to the root of things, and he seemed less convinced of the archaeologist's innocence than his friend.

"I must have lost it." Hazzir paused as he looked up. "When I was hiding the jar."

There as a long moment of surprised silence. Quatre almost gasped.

"**You** hid it? But..."

"I found the jar the morning after the break in, when I went down to the basement to retrieve a packing list I had left in one of the crates. I did not know if the police would search everywhere, so I decided it was safer to hide it, away from the public... away from everyone."

"Why?" Trowa wanted to know.

The older man shook his head. "I do not expect you to understand. And the sheriff won't understand either."

"That's right, I don't understand. Because it makes absolutely no sense."

"Actually," Quatre replied. "It finally is starting to make sense, at least to me."

Trowa, and even Hazzir gave the young man a surprised look.

"I should have realized it all along. You feel them too, don't you Dr. Hazzir, the traces of those who haven't passed on to the next world for one reason or another? Back at the dig site when I told you about my ability, you knew exactly what I was talking about, even though you didn't really understand."

"And I still don't understand." Hazzir admitted. "Maybe it is because I have spent most of my life amongst the dead that I have become more ...umm... sensitive to them? Sometimes I can feel their presence but I don't know why."

"Or maybe it is the other way around," Quatre suggested. "Maybe you became an archaeologist because you were drawn to it by those spirits. If I have learned something over the past year or so it's that sometimes even the dead need a little help; help to pass on to the next life, help in finding justice in this one. And with that realization I have come a long way toward understanding my ability."

Crooking his head slightly, Trowa looked at his friend in a mixture of surprise and amazement. Quatre had indeed come a long way, from the spoiled kid wailing in self-pity about his gift to accepting it.

"Say, Doctor Hazzir..." the blonde asked. "Do you really believe that the spirit in the basement of the museum and the Canopic jar are connected?"

"I am sure of it," the archaeologist nodded.

"Hmm..."

"You do not think so?"

"No, no... I take your word for it. It just throws a different theory we had completely out of the window. But anyway, who does the jar belong to?"

"We don't know...yet. It is something I am still working on. The jar has only been discovered several weeks ago, under...somewhat strange circumstances, you might call it."

"Oh?" Quatre gave the older man a curious look. "Mind telling us all about that?"

"I would love nothing more, but I'm afraid it will have to be later. Sheriff Bonaparte is expecting me, as you know, and I do not think it would be wise to let him wait for too long."

"You are probably right. But you could tell us the story on the way to the sheriff station. Trowa..." he turned toward his friend and bodyguard, "it is alright to give Dr. Hazzir a ride to the station, isn't it?"

The young man shrugged. "It makes no difference to me."

"Thanks. Then..." Quatre turned his eyes back at the archaeologist. "Would you mind me using your bathroom before we leave?"

"Not at all. It is the second door to the left." Hazzir pointed in the direction.

"Thank you."

As the young man disappeared into the bathroom the room filled with uncomfortable silence until the archaeologist cleared his throat, giving Trowa a tentative smile.

"You are his bodyguard, are you not? I do remember there always being one with young Mister Winner during that summer when he visited Egypt. You are doing your job well, Mister Barton. If I had not noticed your gun when we met at the museum..."

"I'm not only Quatre's bodyguard. I'm also a friend who cares a great deal about him. And as such I can tell you I won't let anyone hurt him or take advantage of him."

Hazzir nodded. He doubtlessly had understood the warning behind those words.

"I admire your honesty. But I assure you, young Mister Winner is my friend as much as he is yours."

###

During the drive Trowa spoke very little. He kept his eyes on the road, only occasionally looking into the rearview mirror to check on Quatre and Hazzir sitting in the back.

The archaeologist was telling the story of how the Canopic jar had been discovered.

"... if I remember correctly it was the afternoon of our third day at the new dig-site when a villager showed up at the camp with some fragments of broken pottery. He said his son had found them while looking for some runaway goats, and he was wondering if they might be worth something. - The Egyptian government has started giving out rewards as an incentive for people to turn over any archaeological finds rather than selling them on the black market."

"That seems like a good solution." Quatre nodded.

"It is helping," Hazzir confirmed. "So, I checked out the pottery pieces and recognized them as 13th century. Probably parts of a decorative jar or bowl. I wanted to know where the pieces had been found. The villager said he would show me the place on a map but wouldn't take me there. Apparently they were afraid of some kind of curse. Three of the goats that had been eating grass in the area had died soon after. I paid him enough to replace his goats and some extra and he marked the spot on my map."

"The next morning we drove out into the desert. As soon as we reached the area I could sense an ominous feeling in the air. Even the dogs that we always take along to protect us from wild animals and possible thieves, refused to leave the jeep."

"But that didn't stop you from digging anyway?" Quatre assumed.

"Of course not. We quickly came across more shards from the same piece of pottery, and then when we thought it might be all that we might find one of my men discovered a body."

"A mummy?"

"Not in the sense of one that had been embalmed by priests, but rather a mummy that had been naturally created. The body turned out to be old, perhaps as old as the pottery itself. Beneath it we found the unbroken Canopic jar, which he was still clutching in his hands, a knife, and some other small items."

"If he wasn't mummified by embalming it's to assume that the jars were not his own."

"Correct, that much we can be sure of, yet we have no idea as to his identity or how the jars ended up buried with him."

"That is indeed strange," Quatre admitted.

"But it isn't the strangest part yet," Hazzir told him.

"It isn't?"

The archaeologist shook his head. "When we were sure we recovered everything there was, we took the artifacts and the body back to the base camp. And from there they were supposed to be taken to the Cairo museum. That first night my tent was broken into..."

"What was stolen?"

"Nothing. That's the mystery. But it was clear by the chaos that somebody had been searching for something. After the artifacts had been sent to the museum things started to happen there too. Lights would burn out, alarm systems would go off or stopped working; very very strange things. And then of course there was the aura surrounding the jar. I was almost ready to speak to my superiors about it, but what was I supposed to tell them? Who would have believed me? I surely would have been laughed at. And then all of a sudden it was decided that the jar was going to be sent along on the traveling exhibition. At once I realized that I might not have been the only one who had noticed the strange incidents. I was sure the museum's director was trying to rid himself of the jar by sending it on tour. My protests fell on deaf ears. There was only one thing I could do..."

"Accompany the exhibition!" Quatre concluded. It made sense, and it explained a lot.

Hazzir nodded. "I thought that way at least I could keep an eye on it, but after the break-in...when everybody thought the jar had been stolen and I suddenly found it in the basement I knew this was my chance to make it...umm 'disappear'."

"What exactly were you planning on doing with it?" Trowa finally asked.

"I was going to take it back."

"Back to Egypt?" Quatre asked.

"Back to the desert, to the place where we found it. I was going to bury it and hope it was not found again for another few millenniums."

"That seems a strange endeavor for an archaeologist," Trowa pointed out.

"I realize that. But I do not know what else to do. I am very sure whatever is connected to that jar did not want to leave the desert. The aura has become darker and angrier the further we took it away from there. I was afraid that something might happen, that somebody might get hurt."

"Somebody like the guard at the museum?" Quatre asked quietly.

Hazzir didn't answer and that in itself was answer enough.

"But that guard was attacked by an intruder. It might have happened whether or not your jar would have been at the Browers museum," the young man pointed out.

"But we don't really know that." the archaeologist replied. "Do you think it was a coincidence that the break-in happened just after the artifacts arrived?"

"Maybe not, but it is also possible that it has nothing to do with coincidence, but rather with the fact that it has been an inside job, just as Sheriff Bonaparte suspects. Other things have gone missing in the past."

"Other thefts?" Hazzir's eyes widened.

"At least one that we know of," Quatre confirmed, earning himself a sharp look from his bodyguard.

The young man gave Trowa an apologetic smile.

"I heard nothing about it. What was stolen?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you. Sheriff Bonaparte has sworn us to secrecy. It would be best if you didn't tell anybody about it."

"You have my word," the archaeologist nodded firmly.

There was a long moment of silence until the BMW pulled into the parking lot in front of the sheriff station. Hazzir looked up.

"Mister Winner, would you mind coming inside with me? I think I would feel more comfortable not to have to face the sheriff alone."

"Under one condition," Quatre replied. "You need to stop calling me MISTER Winner. I think we have known each other for long enough to drop such formality. My name is Quatre."

"Very well, but then I must insist that you call me Nassar, as well."

"It's a deal." the young man smiled. "So, how much are you planning on telling Bonaparte?"

"He seems like a good man, and I really don't want to lie to him. But I have learned the truth can be a double-edged sword. Perhaps it is wiser for now to tell him only what he needs to know."

"I think that sounds like a good strategy." Quatre agreed, and even Trowa could not help but admit that they were right.

* * *

TBC

Author's note: Sorry this took so long. My muses absolutely refused to work over the holidays, threatening with union strike and what-not else. But now I think they are back. ;)


End file.
